


The Walrus and the Carpenter Were Walking Close at Hand: A Dinner Set for Two

by DarkwingSnark, Moonbeamcat



Series: BTAS Ask-Blog Universe [9]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Dancing, Food, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 22:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20021743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkwingSnark/pseuds/DarkwingSnark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonbeamcat/pseuds/Moonbeamcat
Summary: "Sorry to bother you, Jonathan, but I'm here to prove a point: you wouldn't at all, by any chance, wish to go out this evening to the Iceberg Lounge for dinner and dancing? I know it's rather sudden notice, and I figured it isn't really your cup of tea, but I figured I would ask."---The Mad Hatter finds himself going out for dinner and dancing with the Master of Fear.





	The Walrus and the Carpenter Were Walking Close at Hand: A Dinner Set for Two

**Author's Note:**

> More RP shenanigans that happened behind the scenes of the blog. Mostly posting for archive purposes.  
> Mad Hatter: https://askthemadhatter.tumblr.com/  
> Scarecrow: https://askthescarecrow.tumblr.com/

Admittedly, Jervis Tetch would be the first one to say he had **not** expected his invitation to be received. Not that it was any failing on his friend’s part-- _heavens no_ \-- it was simply a matter that Jonathan Crane never appeared to be the type who would enjoy such a thing as an evening out dancing. So, could the Englishman be faulted with the look of surprise that crossed his face, when his flatmate had agreed to the arrangement?

_Certainly not._

However… that **did** leave Hatter with much to plan at a sudden notice: far too much thought and effort going into what would be the perfect attire for such an occasion. It would have been _easier_ if he was merely going out with someone he had… ah, no **additional** feelings of attachment to. That was to say: if Jervis’ own feelings were merely _platonic_ in nature. Then he could have focused more on what he felt like wearing-- perhaps speaking to the other person if they desired to coordinate.

Yet… it certainly became more of a task when Jervis had to concern himself with the notion of looking _presentable_ , yet, not as if he was trying to appear particularly _attractive_ for the other party. The idea of ‘ _trying too hard_ ’ springing to mind.

And, well, he certainly didn’t want to _appear_ as if he was doing his best to present himself as handsome _for_ _the professor’s sake_. Just because he was playing with the notion-- turning about whether or not he **DID** have the restraint to properly go about courting the man-- that didn’t mean… well. Didn’t mean he had to be _obvious_ about his feelings, after all.

Besides… he was still absolutely positive that Jonathan Crane did not see him in the same light. (A thought that tended to dampen one’s spirits, to be perfectly honest.)

In any case, Hatter had decided on a grey plaid suit-- accented with a cape, pink top hat, and one of the stargazer lilies Professor Pyg had gifted upon him. Dramatic, and showing of a man who wished to have a pleasant outing…. But nothing that screamed overly romantic, **no**.

It was nearing time to leave, as the Englishman did a quick one over in the bathroom mirror once more. Pleased that nothing seemed out of place, he gave his reflection an encouraging smile.

“It shall be alright, you know. It will be as if you were taking Ms. Kyle out about the town. You’ve done such a thing plenty of times _before_ , and never had you had an ounce of nerves!”

The difference, of course, being that while he loved Ms. Kyle deeply and passionately… he didn’t _fancy_ her the same way he did with Jonathan Crane.

A thought that was brushed aside just as quickly as it came, as Jervis Tetch made his way out of the restroom.

“Jonathan,” he called, as he entered into the main room of their factory home. “Are you just about ready, my dear?”

Getting ready didn't take nearly as long for Professor Crane, as he owned one suit, purchased for him by Jervis himself. Sure, he'd owned nice clothes in the past, he used to be a university professor, after all. But none of them had ever fit him quite right; wide shoulders and a lanky frame made finding clothes that looked right on him a difficult task.

But Jervis had seen this suit, and immediately knew it would fit Jonathan just right. Which certainly meant Jervis had taken close notice of his figure, yet another sign Crane had been sure was pointing in the, "interested" direction.

But it would seem, that Jervis Tetch was such a peculiar man, that one could not go by his gestures and body language alone to decipher his intentions. Jonathan would have thought he was fluent in the language of the Mad, if the doctors at Arkham were correct; but evidently he hadn't a clue on the matter.

These were the thoughts rolling around in Crane's mind as he combed his hair, suit already donned. Jervis' voice calling out to him snapped him from his thoughts, and he set the comb aside, and exited his study, carefully closing the door behind him.

"All ready, I've got my dancing shoes on and everything." He called back.

Jervis smiled upon seeing him, more than pleased with Jonathan’s choice of attempting to tame his wild flaming fringe. As well as tickled by the reminder of the last time the two went out together for Wayne’s Gala. Yet another night of having to pretend there was _nothing more_ between them than mere **friendship**.

The Englishman used the excuse of pretending to straighten up Jonathan’s ensemble-- hands running gently across his shoulders, and resting on his lapel.

“ _So I see_ ,” Hatter finally answered, not daring to look into his companion’s eyes as he continued to speak. “You look quite lovely: it’s always a pleasure to see you get dressed up for a change. I really ought to consider finding you another suit, to have a bit more of a rotation, you know.”

And the excuse to take Crane out to more events. But that was not something he planned on admitted aloud, so instead carried on-- stepping back so as to allow the man his space.

“Shall we be off, March?”

Crane may have enjoyed the subtle touches, had he not been immensely distracted by Jervis' ensemble. The pink hat was striking enough, but it was the cape the man was sporting-- a cape to rival even that of the Bat-- which rendered him momentarily speechless.

"Well aren't you looking sharp." Crane muttered with a smirk, quickly followed by, "Yes, your chariot awaits, as per usual. After you."

If Jervis had ever had an issue with riding around in an old pickup truck, the man never once spoke up about it.

* * *

It didn’t take long before the two had made their way into town-- following the backroads that they knew Cobblepot preferred whenever the more infamous guests were to be arriving. It had been decided that they would park the truck a street before reaching the Iceberg Lounge-- just for extra caution.

Which was fine with Jervis. Despite the Summer heat, he rather enjoyed listening to the sound of his silken cape billowing behind him as they made their short walk to the back entrance of the club-- where a bouncer, or, well, _someone that worked for the Penguin_ stopped them before they got too near.

“‘Ey, this entrance is for guests of the owner only.” He was a burly man, dressed in a suit, with just a peak of a pistol handle nestled out near the tip of his trousers-- something that the Englishman only found himself noticing these days as a fellow rogue who knew to be wary of the reception he might receive. 

“Yes, Mr. Cobblepot happens to be a close friend of ours.” This was said through a Cheshire Cat grin, as Jervis tilted his hat to the side. “ I do believe we should be listed as those who are permitted to use the back entrance. You might find our names under ‘Tetch and Crane’.”

“Don’t recognize ‘em.” The bouncer replied firmly, looking not a bit impressed. “Don’t look like nobody important t’ me.”

Jervis’ smile didn’t slip in the slightest, even as his brows furrowed into a glare.

“Ah, **pardon me** for the confusion. Then check under ‘Mad Hatter’ and ‘Scarecrow’, _instead_.”

In the comfort of their own hideout-turned-home, it was easy to forget that Jervis Tetch was a very dangerous man. A man with the confidence to know what he wanted, and the power and bravado to get it. While the Hatter's glare struck fear into the bouncer's soul, it struck quite a different nerve within Jonathan.

If Crane was to ever be fixed with a glare like that, hidden feelings would quickly become, _unhidden :_ he was sure of it.

"Oh!" The bouncer's eyes were wide in alarm now, shifting between them frantically. Crane stared back at him, deadpan and unamused. This only seemed to unease the man further, much to Crane's delight. "Yeah, sure, I know you guys, yeah! My mistake. Sorry! I didn't recognize ya without your, uh. Your costumes, y'know? Please, go ahead. Enjoy." The man couldn't seem to get out of his way fast enough, practically tripping over himself as he shuffled aside and opened the door for them.

Crane muttered a rather sarcastic "Thank you".

Inside the club and past the bouncer, the airs around Hatter seemed to change back to light and jovial once more-- as the Englishman cozied into the professor’s side. It didn’t take long before they were through the kitchen-- Jervis stopping one of Cobblepot’s waitresses on their way through.

“Ah, miss,” Jervis said with total confidence, as a man who belonged, “we will be taking our seats in the **top** balcony.” This seemed to stiffen the woman, as if alerting her instantly to their importance as Penguin preferred his more infamous guests to stay a bit more out of sight. Hatter’s beam almost seemed to widen, as if proving his point as he carried on. “Yes, _do_ bring along a couple of menus, if you would, and a freshly brewed pot of tea to our table.”

And just like that, the two rogues were off again: just a few strides before they were through the kitchen’s double doors: and there, with all its glory, was the main room of the Iceberg Lounge.

The Englishman felt the chill of the room hit him, suddenly pleased he had worn as many layers he had despite it being a boiling Summer. If Crane was affected by it either way, it didn’t seem to show on his companion’s face as they finally made it to their table.

“Ah, here we are. Out of the way, with a perfect enough view of the stage.” Hatter pulled out Crane’s chair, more so out of courtesy before finding his own. All formal charm seemed to instantly slip away as his joy turned more genuine, as Jervis cooed from his seat-- gazing down to the other floors. “Oh! And the penguin exhibit as well! Oh my, what absolute darlings! I always forget the Dodo keeps them here for show.” 

Crane gave a cursory glance down at the flightless birds, but decided the scenery up where they were was _much_ more interesting.

"Oh yes, the only place in town where one may eat dinner and visit the zoo, simultaneously. Perhaps you'll be permitted to dance with _them_ , as well."

This was said in jest, yes, but in a **kind** jest, as the mental image of Jervis doing a jig with a row of cheerful penguins, much like the scene in a movie he saw once, was as charming as it was hilarious.

Jervis couldn’t help but smile at the mental image as well, even as he brushed it off.

“Oh nono, I couldn’t _possibly_ do so. At least, not without their owners’ permission.” And it was this that the Englishman’s beam broke away to an expression of melancholy, as he remembered the fact Penguin was still a caged bird, as it were. “Poor man. Still, my purpose here tonight isn’t to dance with **THEM** , _now is it?_ ”

"Perhaps it _was_ , I can't expect you to tell me _everything_ , after all..." Oh, when even his joking hits too close to home. "so long as **I** get the **first** , you won't hear any complaints from _me_."

Their chat was momentarily interrupted as the waitress came by with their menus and a pot of tea, along with two empty cups, her smile clearly forced.

"Do you gentlemen need a moment to decide? I can come back in a bit."

“Yes, if you’d be so kind.” This was said in the Englishman’s far more genuine tone of politeness-- his act of being a rumble tumble rogue being put to the wayside now that they already had their foot in the door. “I’m sure we shan’t be too long; yet, I’m sure you have other patrons that require your attention much more.”

The plan had been to soothe the young lady, as having another completely on edge and in a state of jitters had a terrible habit of ruining the mood. He was here as **Jervis Tetch** , not _the Hatter_ , after all. And **Jervis Tetch** wanted to enjoy his evening out with his closest companion.

Fortunately, the change in demeanor was enough to do the trick, as the waitress’ shoulders visibly relaxed. 

“ _Of course_ , sir.” The woman replied with a slight nod of her head. “Feel free to give a wave when you’re ready.”

And like that she was gone. Which was fine by either of them, as Jervis went to pour the both of them tea.

“ **Do** look the menu over, love.” Hatter said, mildly distracted with preparing Jonathan’s cup. “I have a well enough idea of what I’ll be having this evening. However, I thought it best to allow yourself the time to take things in without the stress of someone standing over your shoulder.”

"Yes, appreciated." Crane picked up his menu, sipping on his tea as he looked it over. The liquid was still scalding hot, and he felt it burn all the way down, but it was a welcome sensation against the chill of the restaurant.

He was scanning the menu, really, rather than reading and considering every choice. He knew what he liked, he just needed to see what a place like this would **call** it. After a few moments, his cup was set down, revealing a deep set frown and knitted brows, as Crane hastily looked over the menu again-- flipping it over to scan the back of it one final time, before dropping the menu onto the table.

" _Not a_ **_single_ ** _listing of mashed potatoes and corn on the entire menu,_ **_disgraceful_ ** _."_ He muttered. They did have chicken, though. He sheepishly re-opened the menu to the chicken dish he had seen while they waited for their server to come back around, as he was going to need it in front of him to recall what exactly it was.

"Alright, I think I'm settled."

“Want to go first or shall I?” Jervis asked politely, gaze fully locked on the man across from him as he stirred his tea. 

Crane merely gave a wave of his hand.

“By all means, go ahead.”

“Thank you, dear.” Jervis then turned his attention to the waitress, handing over his menu. “My order will be relatively **simple** .” Here the Englishman took a deep breath, before running off his long list of an order. “ For appetizers: salmon tartare cones with crème fraîche and caviar, and, oh, I think the tomato tarts should pair well. Then, for dinner: your red and yellow endive, treviso and arugula salad. With a bit of extra fruit on top, if you wouldn't mind. The last time I was here my dish felt as if it needed a bit more _muchness_ , if you understand my meaning.”

The woman was quickly writing it all down onto her notepad: her pen scratching wildly as she did her best to keep up with the man. 

“Extra citrus, I’ll be sure to let the chef know.” The waitress turned to Crane, the corner of her smile twitching in a way that seemed to anticipate the man’s order being just as extreme. “And for _you_ , sir?”

But Crane missed it, as he was still staring at Jervis in mild awe. Yes, Jervis had done this before, clearly. Finally becoming aware of the awkward silence, his eyes slowly trailed up to the waitress, and a look of startled realization came over his face.

"Oh! Right. I'll have the..." He looked back down at his menu to double check. " grilled bourbon chicken and rosemary crusted potatoes, with a side of asparagus. Thank you."

The waitress scribbled down his order as well, assured them their food would be delivered soon, collected their menus, and was gone again.

"Well now didn't **_she_ ** look impressed." Crane teased, referring to the waitress. "Clearly a woman who likes a man who knows what he wants."

Hatter had been busy taking a sip of his drink, when he lowered the lip of his cup to frown.

“ _Nonsense._ I’m sure if she felt anything, it was at least appreciation that I didn’t dilly dally about. I’m sure the miss has much more pressing matters to attend, than to hear **me** go on all evening.”

It was a kindness he could provide, Jervis supposed. As well as the fact he would much rather spend his time alone with his… ah, well, ‘date’ wasn’t the correct term, but the Englishman found he couldn’t think of a proper replacement-- as he was far more distracted by the way Jonathan was looking at him from across the table. The way his black eyes seemed to pick up all the icy reflections of the lights around them. Jervis cleared his throat, looking into the amber hue of his drink instead as a distraction.

“ _In any case_ , I should think her opinion hardly matters here.” It was then that another thought came to mind. “... You know, you ought to tell me some of your more preferred, ah, Georgian dishes. I usually just prepare whatever comes to mind at the time-- and while you hardly complain, sure, it would… well. I would be _more than pleased_ to give you anything you desired. You merely need to say the word, you know.”

Jervis' choice of words sparked rather amorous feelings that quickly fizzled out into heartache, instead. Crane sighed, and picked his cup up again.

"Oh Mr. Tetch, I have voiced my desires on _multiple occasions_ , and you have yet to deliver. But as for my taste in food, well." He paused here to sip his drink. It was cooling fast. No surprise.

"Fried chicken, sweet potato fries, corn atop mashed potatoes, gravy... it's all rather wonderful, I assure you. But I can promise, at the very least, I hold no great attachment to, _sweet iced tea_."

While the Englishman cocked his head to the side in confusion in part of what Jonathan was referring to-- _‘have not delivered…?_ ’-- Jervis, instead, chose to mentally note the different dishes the Southern man mentioned.

“I’m sure I’ll need to consult the google, yet, I **do** believe that should be agreeable,” here Hatter paused, scrunching his nose in disdain as he considered the final bit the professor teased about. “ _Thank_ _heavens_ you bear no attachments to sweet tea. I care about you _far too much_ to allow you to soil yourself with such rubbish. Comfort or **not**!”

Still, displeasure didn’t last for long, as Jervis’ smile returned.

“American lemonade, however, _is a different matter entirely._ I really ought to see about getting fresh lemons, next time I’m out and about. I hear it’s just the thing to help keep one refreshed during the Summer months.”

And so their pointless game continued, Jonathan flirting with the man across from him, who in turn pretended not to have heard or understood: all in an attempt to spare his feelings instead of telling him ‘no’ outright. Oh, how Jonathan wished he would, just tell him he wasn't interested to his face.

Why did he keep trying, why did he still attempt to flirt? Jonathan Crane was no letch, but oh, how strongly Jervis but feel otherwise by now. Continuously pursuing a man who clearly held no desire for him. But it came so natural now, like clinging to a floating piece of wreckage, whilst knowing you'll soon succumb to the icy waters anyway.

"N'yes, it's even worth the inevitable heartburn." Sarcasm? Not even Crane was certain. "But you needn't trouble yourself, really. You are a brilliant cook, Jervis, I couldn't ask for better. These things are merely, _comfort food_."

“Oh, it wouldn’t be any trouble,” Jervis assured him, waving his spoon slightly within the air as he brushed off the very idea. “Besides… I like to think even the Master of Fear is deserved his... _comforts_ , wouldn’t you agree?”

The Englishman had a habit of spoiling others anyhow, but Jonathan Crane… well, he was his own special case, even within that. Why, what sort of Hatta would he be if he didn’t wish to give Haigha all that he could, _and then some?_

Except, well… Jervis supposed there were some things that even **Jonathan** wouldn’t wish to accept from him. A thought that sobered his happy high, simmering his mood to one far more somber.

“That said… thank you for the compliments all the same. It can be difficult with the limitations we have to work with; but it has become an interesting challenge, if anything else.” Jervis’ gaze left his friend’s, as he noticed their waitress making her way closer-- tray in hand. “Ah, and here comes our food, now!”

And arrived it did. The young woman laid the plates onto the table-- salad going to Tetch, the chicken entree to Crane, and the two smaller dishes resting in the middle to share between them. Not needing any additional assistance, Jervis thanked her before finally smiling at their meals.

“Do feel free to try the salmon and tarts. Not _Southern_ , mind you, but I assure you they’re quite delicious.”

This was said just as he daintily removed one of the tomato tarts from the center plate for himself, happily biting into it with a satisfying moan.

The sound Jervis made had Jonathan's attention immediately, his own gaze shifting up from his food to look at the man across from him. One brow cocked, a faint smile.

"Oh, no, _please_ , they're all yours. This chicken dish is quite a lot as is."

He went to work cutting his chicken, but distracted still, subtly glancing up at his dinner companion from time to time, shamefully wondering if he would be making those sounds all through his meal.

Crane was pleased to discover that the noises were, indeed, something Jervis continued to make. Finishing up the tiny tart, Hatter went for the salmon tartare-- pleased with the way the flavor burst upon his taste buds. (Quite literally, with the caviar being an element.) Oh, it was moments like these-- experiencing the best the sea had to offer-- that Jervis felt he truly understood the Walrus, the Carpenter, and the lengths they were willing to go to play a trick on their oyster treats.

Crane ate his meal, albeit silently, the pleased smile never leaving his face, even as he chewed. The food was fantastic, but it paled in comparison to _the ambiance_ . It made him wish they could afford to eat here _every_ day. Crane caught himself venturing too close to lecherous territory one again, wondering if Jervis might make similar noises when--

 **Right.** He averted his gaze, and focused on feeding himself.

The meal wasn’t completely filled with the sounds of the Englishman enjoying his meal-- as there had been many moments throughout that Jervis had stopped to engage in conversation. Sometimes inquiring about Jonathan’s work, other times simply sharing the gossip he had heard from the likes of Selina Kyle and Temple Fugate.

“Mmm, I really am quite pleased for them, you know.” Jervis offhandedly mentioned, in between a bite of his salad. “While it really isn’t my business… well, I’m thrilled both the White Rabbit and Dodo have finally come to start understanding their feelings for one another. I dare say their missing such obvious signs of affection was beginning to grow from **endearing** to quite headache inducing!”

Ah, and there went Crane's smile. Was he being mocked now? Or was Jervis truly that dense? Honestly, it was becoming **difficult** to tell.

"Yes, it can be **_quite infuriating_ ** when one remains **oblivious** to the _obvious admiration of another."_ The last piece of chicken was impaled by Crane's fork, almost violently. That's all it took to rid himself of his frustration, however, sighing and lifting the utensil, eyeing the bite, thoughtfully. This wasn't a battle worth fighting.

"I **_was_ ** quite _surprised,_ honestly, Mr. Fugate never seemed the type to be interested in such things. Something as _unpredictable_ as _romance_? Our dear Clock King is sailing new seas these days."

His cup was picked up, and he mumbled into it before taking a drink.

_"I'm almost envious."_

Jervis felt himself sympathizing with his friend-- no doubt the man’s sudden stabbing of his meal stemming from past woes. A passion he knew of well, even as he looked morosely into his tea.

“What can be a **dangerous** sea, at that. Quickly turning from calm and tranquil waters, to a turbulent tourbillon of troubles-- dragging you under until you’re drowning, no longer able to keep your head about you.” Jervis could see his reflection within his drink, his dismay making him appear far older than his years. The Englishman sighed, shaking his head as he forced himself to grin past his own misfortune. 

“Still, I’m sure there will be nothing for Mr. Fugate to fret over in that regard. Mr. Cobblepot absolutely adores the man, it’s as plain to see as the twinkling of the tea, you know. I truly **do** wish them all the best.”

This was punctuated by the remaining bite of his salad, as the Englishman gathered his finished plates to set to the side. 

“Now, if you don’t mind me moving the conversation along, “ Hatter straightened up in his seat, folding his hands onto the table top. He carried on, looking away as he spoke. “I know you aren’t one for desserts, usually: yet, would you, by any chance, care to share some carrot cake with me, o’ Hare? I find myself craving a bit of something sweet on the palate, but I’m sure I shan’t be able to finish a whole slice on my own.”

Of course Jervis would take his remark as an excuse to lament about Alice and what could have been. _Why wouldn't he?_ Crane sulked silently from his seat, arms crossed over his chest, his mood now, seemingly permanently, soured.

Crane shrugged at Jervis' offer of dessert. He certainly didn't have room after the meal he'd just had, but it seemed silly to deny the man his treats.

"Order what you'd like, anything you don't finish you can bring home for later."

“I suppose…” Jervis responded. Agreeing it was at least a reasonable take on the matter. (A way for him to _truly_ have his cake and eat it too.) 

The wait for the waitress to swing by to remove their plates was followed by Hatter placing his order. It was two shakes of a lambtail later that Jervis received his dessert: most noticeable feature being, laying on the cream cheese frosting, long almost transparent slices of carrot placed on top to resemble a ribbon and bow. It was a feature he had noticed the last time he visited the establishment, and, outside of the taste, was one of the reasons he couldn’t help but order it again. Why, it was almost _too_ darling to eat!

This thought was followed by Jervis’ fork cutting off the tip of the slice-- savoring the smoothness of the frosting with a drawn out noise of satisfaction.

“Oh, _oh Jonathan_ , you simply **have** to try this.” The Englishman, in his excitement, had already placed another bite upon his fork-- lifting the utensil eagerly towards the man across from him. “Please, _I absolutely_ **_insist_ ** _._ ” 

Crane stared at the offered treat for awhile with incredulity. Was sharing a fork really something Jervis thought friends did? Why, it was practically a kiss!

The closest thing to _kissing Jervis Tetch_ he was likely to get.

Was he **really** so desperate? Willing to throw his pride and dignity under the metaphorical bus for this _one scrap of perceived intimacy?_ Was he truly _that far gone_ ? That **_pathetic?_ **

Apparently so, he realized too late, as he'd already accepted the offering, eating it off the utensil without even bothering to take the fork out of the other man's hand first.

**_Humiliating! Disgraceful! He--_ **

_Oh, that was pretty tasty, actually._

Jervis found himself letting out a soft ‘oh’ of surprise, as staring at the offered treat had quickly become Jonathan Crane snatching it up like a snapping turtle. Time slowed in that moment, as if he, too, encouraged the Hatter to give his Hare his most _undivided attention_. The Englishman watched, his breath hitching as his eyes seemed to focus in on the way his companion’s lips parted, showing just the slightest bit of teeth as he pulled away from the utensil.

The look of challenged that had been on Jonathan’s face quickly shifted to that of pleasant surprise. And Jervis, not evening realizing he was voicing the thought, asked:

“ _Shall I feed you another?_ ”

Jervis' passionate intrigue was read as worried concern, and Crane mentally berated himself for being so eager. Why, Jervis must think he's starving after a display like that! He busied himself with pouring himself another half cup of tea.

"No, thank you, I'm **quite** full, _really_ ." A quick, fleeting glance up at his dinner companion. "You're right, though, it really **is** rather good."

He wanted to make a joke to lighten to mood, perhaps something along the lines of, if he really wanted a kiss so badly, he could have been more direct about it. But he was far too humiliated for that **now;** _and besides_ , if Jervis truly saw nothing off about sharing eating utensils with him, he certainly wasn't going to purposely change the man's mind.

It was strange, the sense of disappointment that came over the Englishman from his offer being declined. Still, he smiled all the same as he went to take another piece of cake.

“Thank you for _indulging_ me, all the same.” If it was at all possible, Hatter’s bite seemed to taste even better than his last, as his mind couldn’t help but replay the scene of the other man’s enjoyment _over and over_ as his cake disappeared from his plate. 

He would have to consider asking Penguin, once released from prison, if there was any way to receive the recipe for his own collection. If anything else, simply to see that look upon Jonathan’s face again.

Jervis finished his last bite, the gentle clatter of metal onto porcelain being heard as he pushed them both away. Dabbing the napkin against his lips, Hatter couldn’t help his last satisfied noise he made as he voiced his next thought:

“Mmm, yes. I hope Mr. Cobblepot pays his cooks most handsomely. Really, one could find themselves needing to undo a few notches in their belts after having dined.” 

The waitress had left the bill with them upon bringing dessert, and without much thought Jervis pulled out his wallet to neatly place inside the cost of their meal. Folding the leather booklet, the Englishman raised a brow at his companion across from him. 

“That said, I believe I feel the need to compensate treating myself with a bit of exercise on the ballroom floor.” 

Jervis stood from his seat, making his way around the table as he offered out a gloved hand to the still seating Crane. Hatter’s expression turned demure, bowing his head even as he took in the other man through his lashes. And with lilted tones, Jervis Tetch asked that which he wanted to say for the longest of times:

“‘ _Won’t you join the dance_ ,’ Jonathan?”

The sickening flutters Crane felt from the look he'd been fixed with were quickly shoved down with an unhealthy helping of annoyed defiance. Jervis Tetch was a charming man, and he so clearly knew that.

"I thought you'd never ask, Mr. Tetch." Spoken in a tone of sarcasm he didn't feel in the slightest, he took the offered hand and stood, the two walking side-by-side back down the steps, and onto the mostly empty dance floor.

If anything was to be said about the Iceberg Lounge: it would be the location’s sense of aesthetics. The floor was made from a marble white-- polished in a way where one could almost believe Oswald Cobblepot truly had gone through the trouble and expense to steal a bit of the arctic for his club. And there, stage layered like the ledges of an iceberg, was the in-house orchestra. By the time the pair had reached the floor, the last song was finishing, the vocalist posing as the crowd stopped their dancing to applaud the woman’s singing.

“And that was Nat King Cole’s ‘Orange Colored Sky’. A classic number we, here, at the Iceberg Lounge know you’ve come to expect.” This was followed by her smile widening, her pearly whites a contrast to her darker skin. The singer carried on, lightly grasping the microphone. “But how about you let Ms. Adélie take it a little slow for all you lovers out there, young and old, as I sing you a tune you just might have heard before…”

The house lights dimmed slightly, the trumpet player bringing his instrument to his lips, as Ms. Adélie began crooning into the mic. “Dream a Little Dream of Me” flowed throughout the room, wrapping itself around the patrons like a comforting embrace.

Jervis Tetch found himself growing flush in the face, as he turned to his dance partner to whisper.

“Ah, a slower number, **indeed** . If you’d much rather wait for something a bit more lively, my dear, we can simply stand to the side and listen. I wouldn’t wish to put you on the spot with something so…” Intimate was the word the Englishman was thinking, but chose against it. “Well, _nevermind that_. I merely wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”

It took only a moment for Jonathan to realize what their situation implied. This type of number required a slow dance, indeed, and Jervis' unmistakably flushed face told him all he needed to know about his feelings on the matter.

Crane didn't even attempt to hold back the impish smile it caused. He stared down at Jervis, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Oh, no, Mr. Tetch. I promised you a dance," Crane boldly slipped a hand in under Jervis' cape, placing it against the man's side, sliding it downwards to rest on his hip, long fingers reaching around to trail down his back as they went.

 _"And I_ **_fully_ ** _intend to deliver."_

Hatter’s eyes went wide at this motion, looking from hand on his hip, back to the devious grin on Jonathan’s face he had come to love. Jervis took in a sharp intake of air, biting his bottom lip slightly even as his spine went rigid.

 _Oh dear lord, this man would be the_ **_death_ ** _of him._

Jervis exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax his posture-- even as he feared his heart would only continue to accelerate. Doing the only proper thing his mind could think of in that moment: Hatter allowed his right hand to gingerly rest upon the arm that was gripping his side-- his other meeting the hand offered out to him.

The Englishman smiled.

“Then, by all means, lead the way.”

And lead he did: as the two found themselves swaying along with the rest of the crowd. It was a simple enough movement: a rocking of their hips as they both side stepped together. Jervis couldn’t help the slight chortle that escaped him, as his dance partner gestured for him to twirl. 

Being ever the agreeable one, Jervis did so: his cape flowing around him even as the Englishman met Jonathan’s embrace once more-- where Hatter was **keenly aware** that his Hare’s mischievous digits pawed at his hip once more.

“ _You’re quite graceful_ ,” Jervis ventured to voice as a distraction, even as the music swelled around them. “You know, you never mentioned knowing how to dance, Jonathan. You’ve teased about it before, _yes_ : but it came across as just **that** at the time.” A pause as he considered something. “... If I had been made aware, _I assure you_ , I would have offered long before **now**.”

Swaying across the dance-floor, lost in brilliant blue eyes and drowning in a sea of lovesick static, Jonathan Crane found himself incapable of feeling any level of annoyance or resentment over those words.

But that didn't mean his mind hadn't instantly thought up a retorting quip.

"Yes, there have been _many_ heartfelt sentiments of mine you've chosen to brush off as mere jest. Oh, but rest assured, should you extend the offer again, it shan't be turned down."

A thumb rubbed up against Jervis' hip. Alright, so perhaps Jonathan Crane was a letch, for this one man; but he also didn't doubt Jervis Tetch was the type of man to make it known if he wished for it to stop. It certainly wouldn't have been the first broken nose Crane had sustained.

Broken noses and acts of violence was **far** from the mind of the Englishman, as Jervis found himself lost in the moment. It was hard **not** to be, as his senses were honed into Jonathan, _and Jonathan alone_. The way the taller man leaned in close to his ear, the slight chemical smell that never truly seemed to leave Crane’s person. And of course, the radiating warmth that the hand on his hip left him-- the stroking of the thumb only making his nerves alight with activity.

Jervis attempted a subtle sigh.

“ _Those seem like_ **_dangerous words_ ** _, Jonathan Crane._ Know that I shall hold you to them.” That was far too serious. Oh, lighten the mood, Tetch. “Why, how would you ever get work done if I decided upon taking you out **every** evening? You’d be _positively miserable_ , I should think!”

This prompted a short, deep chuckle from Crane. "Yes, perhaps." He admitted. "But we don't need to come **_here_ ** for _dancing,_ you know. We have our very own dance floor and radio back home."

A pause.

"Unless you're worried _the bird_ may judge us."

Jervis shook his head, amusement evident even as a note of sadness hit his words.

“No, it isn’t _him_ I worry about.” Hatter allowed himself the closeness, allowed himself to foolishly want to rest his head against Professor Crane’s frame. Ms. Adélie’s smokey tones were slightly muffled, as Jervis instead focused on the rhythmic beating of the heart he couldn’t have.

He gave the arm of his hare a gentle caress-- more so to comfort himself as he could feel the song, and in turn, their dance coming to an end. The band ceased their playing, causing the couples on the floor to break apart and give their applause. Jervis sighed, knowing he, too, should part ways. 

_But Jervis Tetch had always been a greedy man._

“Jonathan,” he asked, lifting his head as he offered his friend a smile. “Would you mind indulging me once more?”

A surprising question, and one Jonathan wasn't aware he had been hoping would be asked.

"Not in the slightest."

Jonathan Crane would dance the whole night through if Jervis truly wanted it. There was always work to be done, tests to be run, terror to spread. But tonight... Gotham could wait.


End file.
